


Helping Hand, A

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-28
Updated: 2003-04-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: After the events of PBV, Mulder has difficulty coping.  Alex lends a hand.





	Helping Hand, A

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Helping Hand, A

### Helping Hand, A

#### by Sagittarius

  

    
    
         Date: Thursday, December 19, 2002 5:29 AM
         Sorry, but I had too much fun writing this not to share.
         Happy Holidays one and all.
    
         Title: A Helping Hand
         Author: Sagittarius
         Email: 
         Season: Five, post Pine Bluff Variant
         Spoilers: The Red and the Black, Pine Bluff Variant
         Rating: NC-17
         Pairing: Mulder/Krycek PWP (or Porn Without Plot)
         Warnings: Why, slash of course.  If that offends you, if you
         are underage or the laws of your country prohibit you from
         reading such material, then go no further.
         Summary: After the events of PBV, Mulder has difficulty
         coping.  Alex lends a hand.
         Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder and Alex Krycek etc
         are the properties of CC and other fortunate people.  No
         infringement is intended.
         Author's Notes: Others had a _cough, snigger_ hand in this,
         so thanks to J, M and D for the delightful subject matter,
         you sick and twisted people you :)
    

* * *

With a weary sigh, Mulder slumped down onto the leather couch, carelessly propping bare feet onto the coffee table, disturbing the thin layer of dust that had encroached since its last clean a few eons before. Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he unthinkingly reached forward to grab the TV remote from the space at his feet and instantly hissed at the sudden, burning pain that shot through his injured left hand. 

Painkillers had been unable to suppress the constant, nagging ache, a simple fracture Scully had told him, as she'd set then splintered the broken digit two nights before. Though not wholly uncompassionate, she'd nonetheless chided his undignified yelps and whimpers of pain during the brief yet agonizing procedure. But afterwards, she brushed back damp hair from his forehead with one hand, the other resting lightly on his knee, apology in her cerulean eyes. Mulder had never loved her more. 

At her insistence, he had recounted the moments that led up to the torture, but skimmed over the gruesome details that had followed. Like the way the gimp had slowly bent the joint of his little finger against all the natural laws of the human body, how he'd taken such obvious pleasure in Mulder's pain. 

Yet one word, one slipup and Mulder would be as dead as the poor sonofabitch in Folger park, the outer layer of his flesh destroyed, eaten away by some unknown biotoxin, so that even Scully wouldn't be able to identify his mutilated corpse. A broken finger seemed small price in comparison. 

Closing his eyes, Mulder felt a tremor, a cold, discomforting chill that cat-walked down his spine as the memories of that night, and the one that followed, replayed in his mind. Delayed shock, a voice told him, in Scully's clinical, doctor's tone. No time to decompress. 

Shaking away the disturbing thoughts, it was with a careful deliberateness that Mulder withdrew his left hand and reached with his right instead, snagging the remote and almost viciously stabbing the buttons to start the tape in the machine. 

The nightmares were bound to descend that night and Mulder was determined to feed more pleasing images into his subconscious, in the vain hope they might somehow supplant the terror and stress he'd been under for the last few days and transform sleep into a restful period rather than a strenuous endeavor. 

The movie began, as most did, with a dire warning regarding adult content, before plunging into a scene of appalling, slutty acting thinly disguised as a plot. Casually discarding the remote in anticipation, Mulder trailed the fingers of his right hand down his bare chest, toying lightly with one nipple then moving across to the second to stroke and pluck. Closing his eyes against the lurid visions on the TV, he could almost imagine it was a ghost-lover's touch, a greedy hand that descended of its own volition, to unbutton and unzip his jeans, lacking either ease or finesse, urgent all the same. 

Mulder reached in with the same hand to cup himself, stroking lightly at first, grazing with his fingertips in an effort to tease. There was no rush and he slouched further, easing his long legs further apart to get a more comfortable position on the couch. 

Minutes later, the action on the screen was hotting up, having given up all pretense of a storyline. Two blondes, one guy, a whole lot of faked moaning and excited writhing. Mulder pumped his dick in a rhythm he honed since his teens, yet the climax he'd been seeking since the start of the film continued to elude him. 

Other images kept popping into his head at the most inopportune moments; the bank teller, lying shot on the floor, the man in the park, the gimp falling dead at his side, the dilapidated greenhouse with the ripped shreds of polythene flapping in the wind like specters of death... 

Shit. Mulder snatched his hand away from his half-hard cock, frustrated and in pain to the point of tears. He hadn't saved the teller, or the poor souls at the theatre. Or found proof of a secret government plot to test a deadly substance on its own people. And with his customary left hand splintered and aching like a bitch, he couldn't even give himself a decent hand job! 

Thumping his right fist against the back of the couch, Mulder leaned back his head, listening dispassionately to the enthusiastic grunts and groans still emanating from his TV set and wondered how his life could get any worse. 

"Giving yourself a hard time, Mulder?" a voice drawled from the doorway and Mulder's eyes snapped open in disbelief. 

Alex Krycek, assassin, thief and demon incarnate, regarded Mulder with something akin to cocky amusement. Green eyes flickered down to Mulder's exposed groin, took in his semi aroused state, then came back up again, the lips curving into a familiar, insolent smirk. "Or maybe not." 

Mulder stared, open mouthed at his tormentor, torn between an ingrained desire to jump the bastard and mortification at being caught jerking himself off...by Alex Krycek no less! 

"So, Mulder," Krycek continued, flashing a mischievous grin full of innuendo, "need a hand?" 

At that, Mulder quickly forgot his humiliation and made to lunge for the double-crossing, double agent, but Krycek was quicker. With a snap of his wrist, the younger man brought up the silencer pistol held in his right hand, pointing it straight at Mulder's head before the FBI Agent was even halfway off the sofa. 

"Now, now," Krycek murmured, as Mulder gritted his teeth and glowered impotently at having his violent instincts frustrated. "Settle down, Fox, I'm quite enjoying the view." 

Mulder reluctantly abandoned his aborted move and allowed himself to sink back into the cushions, resisting the urge to cover himself under Krycek's blatantly leering gaze. If Krycek wanted to try a mind-fuck, he couldn't have picked a more worthy opponent than Mulder. 

So instead of biting off the usual, obligatory `What do you want, you scum sucking prick?', Mulder deliberately turned his attention from the killer and focused back on the TV. 

Krycek's gaze drifted that way and Mulder heard of bubble of mirth escape the younger man. "This is what you get off on?" Krycek queried, sounding stupefied, sliding further into the room. He prowled across the front of the TV and came to stand on Mulder's right, cocking his head at the flickering images. "I expected something a little more...I don't know, out there. ET and Jabba the Hut going at it, maybe." 

Mulder refused to rise to the verbal baiting, though, to his dismay, something else was doing all the rising for him. When Krycek turned that lascivious grin once more on Mulder, Mulder's cock twitched under the intense stare. Mulder would have laughed if he hadn't felt so thoroughly humiliated. He couldn't get it up for the blondes but Krycek was doing it for him now? Maybe the `out there' comment wasn't so far off. 

Krycek suddenly moved and Mulder flinched before he could control himself. The assassin's weight settled at his side, cool leather and warm body heat, with a mixture of musk and sexual pheromones that were so uniquely Alex Krycek. Mulder started to shift, tugging his now trapped right arm away, but froze when he felt the silencer dig into his ribs. 

"Easy, Fox," Krycek murmured, and Mulder could feel the younger man's intense stare travelling the length of his body. His cock gave another twitch of interest, so much so that even Krycek couldn't fail to notice. 

Mulder sighed, suddenly tired of a game his traitorous body was apparently losing for him. "Why don't you just do what you came for, Krycek," he said, his tone too weary to muster any anger or resentment towards the unwelcome intrusion. "Then get the hell out and leave me in peace." 

The silencer moved upwards, the barrel caressing coldly over one pebble hard nipple and Mulder shivered, fighting down his body's natural responses as much as possible. There was no sense in giving Krycek any more ammunition than he already had. 

The other man leaned over, his breath warm and soft against the shell of Mulder's ear. "So you can jerk off to your heart's content?" Krycek purred, softly. He angled his body slightly towards the TV, nodding at the blondes. "I don't think they're quite what you need tonight, Fox." 

"It's Mulder," Mulder snapped, losing patience. "And how the hell would you know what I need?" 

"I know more about you than you think, _Fox_. And I know _exactly_ what you need." 

The silencer dropped suddenly and cold metal nestling inside Mulder's jeans, jolting his erection. Mulder hissed and lifted his hips a little, whether to gain relief from the chill or press into the deadly weapon, he honestly couldn't tell. 

"That's it, Foxy baby," Krycek was murmuring, as he stroked the weapon back and forth a little. Then he paused. "Do you remember what you said to me, that night in your apartment?" 

The sudden change of topic confused the hell out of Mulder, who was still struggling with stringing his shattered thoughts back together. Then it came to him. The Air Base, the kiss. 

"I told you I could still beat you with one hand," Krycek supplied, unnecessarily, still in a soft, soothing monotone. "And you told me..." 

Isn't that how you like to beat yourself, Mulder finished, silently, then flinched again as Krycek withdrew the gun and laid it against the opposite side of Mulder's face, forcing the Agent's eyes to his own. The knowing smile on the assassin's lips told Mulder that he remembered that part of the conversation, too. 

"Actually, it is," Krycek answered his unspoken question. "But, tonight, I'll do it for you instead." 

The silencer moved, down between them, then the sound of Krycek slipping on the safety cut through Mulder's haze. He watched in surprise as Krycek carefully reached over and placed the weapon on the coffee table, well out of Mulder's immediate reach, but within his own...should he need it. 

Krycek's eyes met his and before Mulder could speak, a warm, soft hand was wrapped tightly, expertly around his cock. Mulder let out a harsh groan, and threw back his head, as Krycek's unexpected warmth ignited the arousal that had seemed so elusive only minutes before. 

"I knew you'd be like this," Krycek whispered in his ear, so close the stubble from the assassin's chin scraped the sensitive skin of Mulder's exposed throat. "Like fucking sex on legs," Krycek continued, massaging Mulder with both hand and his seductive words. "Everyone wants a piece of you; your Saint Scully, Skinner, half the population at the fucking Hoover. But do you know that? No. You just sit here every night, watching your tapes, jerking off alone, when you could have anyone you fucking want. All you'd have to do is shake your ass or pout those pretty lips and they'd swarm round you like you were a bitch in heat." 

Mulder closed his eyes, shaking his head in denial, beyond words. Scully wasn't like. She was his partner, cool headed and untouchable. And as for Skinner? The thought was laughable. 

He felt rather than saw Krycek's smile. "You keep on fooling yourself, baby," the assassin whispered, like some mischievous pitchforked demon perched on Mulder's shoulder. "But I know the truth. The real truth." His thumb passed over the head of Mulder's cock, stirring the fluid that had gathered, and Mulder cried aloud. "Ssh, ssh," the assassin crooned, yet pumped ever harder. "This is the truth, Mulder. You're a slut. A beautiful, sexy as hell, infuriating slut...you just don't know it yet." 

Mulder worked his mouth, the words coming out low, gravelly, almost seductive. "I'm not...I don't..." He tried, but failed to vocalize his denial. 

"Yes," Krycek countered, firmly, tugging on his cock so Mulder bucked wildly into his hand. He bent forward and licked the sheen of perspiration from Mulder's temple, burying his face briefly in the Agent's hair and inhaled deeply. "You taste and smell so good. So sweet and hot. Come for me, Fox. Come on baby." 

Mulder opened his mouth to cry out as a blinding wave of pleasure that started out in his balls began to surge upwards, spreading across his abdomen, buttocks and the head of his cock. Suddenly, Krycek's mouth was on his own, the younger man's tongue forcing itself between his teeth, plunging back and forth and the hand that gripped him stroked harder and faster. 

Mulder arched into the cushions, Krycek's weight pressed against his own, leather touching bare, overheated skin and he was helpless to deny the orgasm that crashed over him. The top of his cock exploded and he shot his seed over Krycek's hand and his own bare stomach, crying out again and again as Krycek refused to let up until he'd milked him of every drop and he was shaking with the sensation. 

A while later, Mulder opened his eyes, his body feeling as lethargic and boneless as a cat's. Krycek was sitting now in the chair across the table, hand on knee, the pistol gripped between his fingers. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, Mulder not knowing what the hell to say. He licked his lips, tasting Krycek, feeling them wet and puffy still from the other man's brutal kiss. Suddenly, Krycek stood. 

"I guess pillow talk ain't our thing," he said, the infuriating smirk back and firmly in place. 

Mulder drew in a lungful of air, strangely missing the other's warmth, the cool of his leather. The cold touch of his gun. "Krycek," he managed to bite out. "What the hell was that?" 

"The truth," Krycek shot back, tauntingly. He stretched with panther-like grace. "Sleep well." 

After what you've just done to me? Mulder wanted to say, but the anger wasn't there. In fact, the stress that had cramped his muscles and disturbed his sleep was surprisingly gone too. Krycek was right. He would sleep well. 

"I don't understand," Mulder said, quietly, as Krycek headed for the door. "Why?" 

The assassin paused and glanced back over one shoulder. His grin was nothing more than a feral bearing of his teeth, a splash of white in the darkness. "You know me Mulder. I'm always happy to lend a hand," he said, then left just as silently as he'd came. 

Mulder sat on the couch and stared at the TV. The two blondes were off on another adventure, but somehow, it didn't interest Mulder in the slightest. Because I've already got what I wanted, he reasoned, as he grabbed the remote. Yet thoughts of Krycek jacking him off in the dark of his apartment were enough to send his already sated libido into a second state of arousal. 

Flicking off the TV, Mulder climbed unsteadily to his feet and headed for the bathroom. Words that Krycek had uttered during their... encounter, were replayed mercilessly by his eidetic memory. Scully wants you, Krycek had said. Skinner too. Mulder snorted at that, but later, as he lay in bed, relaxed and satiated for the first time in a long time, thoughts of the two people he trusted most swam through his sleepy mind, bringing dark and erotic dreams. 

And through the listless, pleasurable wanderings of his mind, Mulder couldn't help wonder what had brought Krycek to his apartment, what it was that the assassin had left without getting. As sleep finally claimed him, it never occurred to him to think that, just perhaps, Krycek had got exactly what he wanted after all. 

**THE END**   
  

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Sagittarius


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